


Man Arrested for Selling Immortality at a Hot Topic™️

by duplicity, Minryll



Series: Retail Hell [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Art, Chaotic Fae Harry Potter, Comic, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Hot Topic Tom Riddle, Humor, M/M, lots and lots of candles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minryll/pseuds/Minryll
Summary: Tom Riddle works at Hot Topic, where he spends his shifts ignoring customers and painting his nails a soul-sucking black.What Happens Next Will Make You Cry. This Is Not Clickbait.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Retail Hell [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851667
Comments: 51
Kudos: 347





	Man Arrested for Selling Immortality at a Hot Topic™️

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Hot Topic! This fic is written by Duplicity and illustrated by Minryll.
> 
> You can find the tumblr post for this fic [here](https://minryll.tumblr.com/post/624825372987506689/)!

Hot Topic is where dead people go to pretend to feel alive.

Tom Riddle was dressed in a black leather jacket, black t-shirt, and black skinny jeans. He, a long-suffering Hot Topic employee, was filled with a singular desire to make it through the work day without committing murder. Alas, life was neither pleasant nor easy, and so Tom was forced to pause in front of the shop to stare at an unwanted visitor.

Standing just outside the entrance of the Hot Topic was a boy his age clad in a trenchcoat. Said trenchcoat was several sizes too large and utterly impractical given the humid summer weather. 

“Can I help you?” Tom asked, politely as he could manage given it was quite obvious he was an employee, and that there had yet to be any witnesses to any possible altercation he was about to engage in.

The boy, with dark messy hair and bright green eyes, twitched his mouth into a smile. “Want to be immortal forever?” he asked, and opened his trenchcoat to reveal a wild assortment of potions and jars that were _tied into the inner lining of his coat._

Tom snorted. “I already sold my soul to capitalism and employee discount on black nail polish, so: _pass.”_ And then he turned away and went to unlock the door.

“Er, are you sure about that? Very sure? I’m offering eternal beauty _and_ immortality. I can throw in nail polish if it helps?”

Tom paused, hand on the doorknob, and pivoted slowly to face the odd stranger who was bothering him _before store hours had even begun._

“I work retail,” Tom said slowly, like he was speaking to an infant. “If you think my putting up with this hasn't already made me immortal and all-powerful, you must be delusional as well as a con artist.”

The boy offered Tom an expression of disbelief, leading Tom to believe this idiot had never worked a day in his life.

“I’ve looked Karens in the face,” Tom continued. “I do not fear death.”

Over six months ago, on Black Friday, some imbecilic woman had attempted to return a used makeup set with no receipt. Tom had murdered her and created his first Horcrux.

“Wait!” cried the boy. _“Wait!_ Hear me out, you haven’t even heard the low price I’m about to offer you—”

“Store opens in fifteen minutes. See you then!” Tom said cheerily, then shut the door in the stranger’s face. 

The inside of Hot Topic was pitch black. With a sigh, Tom switched on the flashlight function of his mobile phone and set about the process of preparing the store for opening.

* * *

The rest of Tom’s day passed with agonizing slowness. In the dark cavernous atmosphere of Hot Topic, time did not exist, and breaks were never long enough. Tom busied himself with doing nothing and thanked the gods above that his manager had chosen to take today off.

The age-old request of ‘I’d like to speak to the manager’ was now answered with a resounding, smug-filled ‘NO’.

Tom painted his nails a soul-chilling black, ignored various irritating customers who were only here to window shop, and kept an eye on the clock for his designated break time.

Once it was time for lunch, Tom passed the store off to Ginny Weasley and removed his name tag.

The boy from before was still loitering outside the shop.

“Any luck?” Tom asked him.

The boy jolted up upon seeing him and reopened his trench coat. “Okay, so, immortality aside, I have other options! Potions for hair growth, creams for flawless complexion! No more need for any makeup primer!”

Tom was offended. “I do not use _primer,”_ he said scathingly. “In fact, if you have so many things, why haven’t you bothered with a _growth_ potion?”

The boy’s mouth dropped open.

“I’m off to Taco Bell,” Tom remarked with dignity. “Don’t wait up.”

“I _won’t!”_ shouted the stranger, his face flushed an angry red colour.

Tom should have known that this conversation would not be the last of it. Problematic customers never let him rest—why would this boy be any different?

* * *

When Tom got off work at four, the trenchcoat weirdo was nowhere to be found.

Tom went home and ate ramen and binge-watched Stranger Things for the third time that month while he texted Lucius about the irritating imp that had tried to sell him immortality potions.

All in all, a typical evening. Tom headed to bed early, as he was opening the next day, and set his alarm. Despite the overwhelming despair he felt at having to clock in for work, he tried to maintain a healthy appreciation for the meagre benefits his job afforded him. A paycheck, firstly, and deeply-discounted spiked leather chokers.

When morning arrived, Tom was pleased to note that the front of Hot Topic was devoid of strange boys in large coats.

Tom set about opening the shop, then took his place at the counter.

The first hour was usually quiet, even on a weekend, but as the minute hand ticked onwards, the shop grew… oddly full.

With a sigh, Tom decided that even he could not get away with ignoring an entire shop full of customers while Slughorn was watching him.

Tom approached his first customer of the day: a tall blonde woman of average height and clad in pastel, suburban-style clothing. Hopefully he could simply direct her to whatever her teenage hellspawn had asked her to purchase and be done with it.

“May I help you?

She swivelled to face him, and Tom nearly recoiled at the sight. Her eyes, blindingly large behind enormous spectacles, were strangely _manic,_ and her expression was… _Karen-ish._ There was simply no other way to describe it. Tom felt horror settle deep into his stomach at the interaction that was about to occur, and braced himself for the worst.

“I was wondering,” she began, “if you have children’s nail polish here?”

Tom had been asked this multiple times before, and thus he had his answer prepared. “We do not.”

“It’s a washable nail polish,” the woman continued to warble, heedless of his negative response. “It washes off with water. And it’s child-safe, for children. Do you know about it? Can you tell me about the ingredients?”

“We do not have it,” Tom said. “And I’m afraid I don’t know about the ingredients. We do, however, carry a selection of _vegan_ nail polish—”

The woman cut him off, speaking over him. “I notice you have some of the same brands. Do you know where I could find it? Could you contact the manufacturer and have it sent here? It’s just, I came here to buy it, you understand, and you don’t have it.”

Tom blinked. “I’m afraid,” he repeated, “I can’t do that for you.”

“I don’t think you know what I’m talking about. This is a water-soluble nail polish for children. It’s meant to be safe. You should have it here.”

“We don’t have it here.”

The woman peered at him for a long moment. “Is there anyone else I can speak to who knows more about this than you do?” she asked, disdainful.

Tom forced himself to smile, though secretly he was relieved to be rid of her. “Of course,” he said. “Let me call over my supervisor.”

* * *

By lunch time, Tom was ready to lie down and let the floor consume his flesh right off his bones, leaving him as nothing but a skeleton to be gawked at by the various Karens that had plagued him throughout the morning.

Tom left his jacket in the staff room and trudged out into the mall for his quick fix of grease food.

Before he could get too far, there was a new shop across from Hot Topic that drew his attention. It looked to be a candle shop— _Forever Fragrances_ —that sold those overpriced diffusers that sprayed nauseating floral scents into the air.

The most important aspect of this shop was that it was blatant Karen bait.

Tom narrowed eyes at the multitude of highlighted blonde bobs congregated around the store front. So this shop was to blame for his suffering.

From this distance, Tom could scent out the sickening aroma of Pumpkin Spice Latte and Fresh Baked Bread. Horrific and appalling. If this kept up, there would be an influx of customers asking him for Pumpkin Spice Latte vinyl stickers. A shudder rolled down his spine at the mere thought of it.

The Karens were in the midst of cooing over some display when one of them moved aside, revealing the shop’s singular employee.

Trenchcoat weirdo, now clad in a bright green apron patterned with tiny cartoon candles, waved joyfully at Tom.

_“You!”_ Tom shouted, decorum forgotten in favour of demolishing trenchcoat boy with the sheer force of his rage. 

Tom stomped over, nudging aside offended Karens as he went, making a beeline for the green-eyed _menace_ who had made his morning a living hell.

“This is your fault!” Tom accused, jabbing a finger. “You’re—you’re _SUMMONING_ them here! With candles and pumpkin spice!”

The boy—whose shiny metal name tag read ‘HARRY’ in bold letters—began to laugh. Sunny, bubbly laughter that was so unfairly _happy_ that Tom was tempted to create another Horcrux right this moment. He would use this awful Harry person as the human sacrifice.

Harry wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, still smiling up at Tom. “I’m not sure what you mean,” said Harry, affecting a tone of innocence that would not have fooled Slughorn, let alone Tom.

“You are horrible and awful,” Tom said, despair washing over him. “How could you do this to me? What did I _ever_ do to deserve this?” He gestured wildly at the horde of Karens.

Harry folded his arms over his chest. “You said I was short.”

Tom was flabbergasted. “You _are_ short!” Tom spluttered. “You’re short!”

“Mmm. Okay, bye bye. Have a nice lunch!” Harry stepped forward, seizing Tom by the elbows, and steered him out of the shop. “Better hurry. The line at _Taco Bell_ isn’t getting any _shorter!”_

Tom was going to kill him. But first, he thought as his stomach rumbled in protest, he would have to go and eat lunch.

* * *

At the food court, the line for Taco Bell was long. Tom cursed a certain disaster-haired boy several times and went to Burger King instead.

* * *

When Tom got back from lunch, it seemed the fervor had died down. Harry was standing by himself next to a stained-glass diffuser.

“This one here is effervescence, garlic, and Alaska,” Harry said in greeting, pointing at the diffuser. “I’m not sure exactly what this scent is for, actually. Warding off American vampires? I have another one that’s despair, roasted potatoes, and pure evil. Definitely think that one suits you.”

“Wh—” Tom stuttered.

“The bonus of having the scent of roasted potatoes is that there are bottom notes of dirt. Which, again, suits you. But ideally? If I was to design the perfect fragrance for you? I would add the tears of the underpaid, five gallons of hair bleach, and ill-disguised family issues.”

Tom stiffened his face, scraped his remaining dignity up off of the floor, and marched over to Hot Topic. At least Slughorn would compliment his eyeliner.

* * *

Tom was wiping down the glass display with a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels. He was not looking through the glass at where Forever Fragrances was. He was _not_ watching as regular women were turned into raving Karen zombies after inhaling Harry’s nightmarish essential oils.

When Ginny came in at half-past three, she was carrying a paper bag. “Look at this!” she gushed. “Citrus, oatmeal, and vitality!”

Tom refrained from asking what ‘vitality’ was supposed to smell like and resumed his surveyance of the dark-haired hobgoblin who was now chattering to yet _another_ freshly-turned Karen.

“Whatcha watching?” Ginny asked, looming closer.

Tom shoved at her shoulder. “I’m cleaning. Go away. I’ll pour bleach on you.”

“Harry’s kind of cute, isn’t he?”

“He’s demonic,” Tom hissed, glaring at her. “He’s a plague upon hard-working retail workers everywhere.”

“Bit of a stretch to call yourself ‘hard-working’.”

“Look at all those Karens,” Tom said furiously. “Don’t tell me you’re _glad_ he’s here.”

Ginny patted his head. “Don’t despair, Tom. At least your eyeliner looks pretty today.”

Tom sniffed and ignored her.

* * *

For the rest of his shift, Tom scanned Ginny’s behaviour for symptoms of Karen-infection. Thankfully, she was her usual irritating self, which was not the same brand of irritating Tom tended to suffer at the hands of middle-aged white women. Perhaps retail workers were immune to the powers of Harry’s shop scents.

Speaking of the scents, Tom was also accumulating a mental list of purchases brought into the Hot Topic.

Tomatoes, blackberries, and darkness.

Clay, shampoo, and peanuts.

Salt, timelessness, and French toast.

Tom was beginning to suspect this Harry was some kind of fae creature. Or a minor deity. Or a demon crawled out from hell to torment Tom specifically.

Once his shift was over, if Harry was still across the way, Tom was going to deliver more scathing insults about height differences. 

Thoughts of sweet, sweet revenge fueled Tom through his final two hours of stupid Karens and returns-without-receipts. Tom spent the last fifteen minutes of work touching up his hair and adjusting his clothes.

“Hot date?” Ginny asked.

Tom scowled. “No.”

“Hot archenemy across the way?”

“No,” Tom said, emphatically this time.

“Okay.” Ginny shrugged and walked off.

* * *

When it was time to clock out, Tom took his time in gathering his things and pulling his jacket on. Ginny was staring at him, smirk on her lips. As he passed through the doorway, she cried out, “Good luck!”, loud enough for Harry to glance in their direction.

Tom hated her.

Too late to back down now, though. Tom was not a coward. He strode right up to Harry and contorted his face into a menacing expression, opened his mouth to speak and said—

“I do _not_ have ill-disguised family issues!”

_Bloody hell._

Harry’s face twitched. “Okay.”

Tom made a strangled sound of frustration deep in the back of his throat that sounded vaguely like several wild animals dying at once.

“Here,” Harry said quickly, whipping out a large 22-ounce candle in a dark-walnut mahogany colour. “I have a peace offering.”

Tom inspected it, suspicious. “What does this one smell like?”

Harry’s eyes glittered, vibrant and verdant, in the dim mall lighting. “Fresh rain, bonfires, and _triumph.”_

Tom snatched the candle up. “Is this going to make me live forever?” he asked.

Harry raised a brow at him. “I thought you didn’t want that.”

“I don’t,” Tom defended. “Just checking.”

Harry smiled. “Truce, then?”

The influx of Karens could not be forgiven so easily. It could not. Tom had sworn to hold a grudge until all the stars in the sky died and the universe imploded on itself.

“No more Karens,” Tom warned, after a pause.

“No more Karens,” Harry promised.

Tom stuck out his hand. They shook on it.

“Now,” Harry said, voice filled with delight as he rubbed his hands together. “Let me tell you about this miraculous potion that will let you talk to snakes.”

“Really?” Tom asked, eager. Finally, _here_ was something he would be willing to pay for.

Harry giggled. “Nah, I’m just pulling your leg. I can’t _really_ do that. Snakes don’t even have eardrums!”

Tom gaped at Harry, then jerked away and stormed off. He was not here to be _mocked._

“See you tomorrow!” Harry called after him. “I’ll try to see if I can find a scent to match your aura of gothic teenage angst!”

“I’m not working tomorrow!” Tom yelled back. “Bugger off!”

He _was_ working tomorrow. But now he would make sure to call in sick.

“You are!” Harry yelled back, still in that same tone of delight. “We can eat at Taco Bell together.”

“Not working tomorrow!” Tom repeated, increasing his pace so as to escape more quickly. If he wore a hoodie and kept the hood on, perhaps Harry would fail to recognize him.

“Bye, Tom!”

Tom clapped his hands over his ears and kept walking. It wasn’t until he’d gotten home that he realized he’d forgotten to remove his name tag.

* * *

The following day, Tom showed up to Hot Topic wearing a hoodie, sunglasses, and purple skinny jeans instead of black ones. Ginny eyed his outfit very skeptically and judgmentally.

“Harry’s been in his shop all day.”

“Good riddance,” Tom said. “Also, do _not_ call me by my name today. Even if he’s across the way, he’ll hear you somehow.”

“Alright, weirdo. Whatever turns you both on.”

The shop was blissfully Karen-free for all three hours leading up to Tom’s lunch break. Tom re-organized the shelves of Funko dolls and touched up his nails.

Then, right before Tom was about to leave for his break, the bell at the front jingled.

Harry, sans his Forever Fragrances apron, was standing in the doorway. His t-shirt was neon yellow, had a large white arrow pointing upwards, and was accompanied by the slogan _‘My Eyes Are Up Here’._

“Time for our Taco Bell date!” Harry exclaimed, walking up and seizing Tom by the arm. “My treat.”

“Free Taco Bell is the perfect way to Tom’s heart,” Ginny supplied helpfully.

“Shut up,” Tom told her.

Harry continued to drag Tom towards the exit. “I was wondering if you could help me, Tom. I was designing some new scents, and I’d like for you to explain to me what ‘sexual satisfaction’ ought to smell like. Alternatively, if you can only describe the _opposite,_ that works too—”

Tom twisted to look over his shoulder at Ginny and mouthed ‘help me’.

Ginny waved goodbye like the evil witch she was, abandoning Tom to his horrific fate.

“—but we have plenty of time for physical experiments to confirm my results,” Harry added innocently. “Isn’t that right, Tom?”

Tom’s mouth went dry. Much to his embarrassment, he could feel his face flushing with colour. “‘Sexual satisfaction’ is not a _real_ scent,” he managed to get out.

Harry rolled his eyes and released Tom’s arm in favour of lacing their fingers together. “Not with _that_ attitude, it isn’t.”

Okay, maybe Tom was willing to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. Just this once.

Tom cleared his throat. “Tell me more about what… what ‘sexual satisfaction’ smells like.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Okay! Well, first of all, I imagine a bedroom filled with candles. I mean just _filled_ with dozens and dozens of really big candles all over the place—”

**Author's Note:**

> Harry's a pyromaniac. That's the joke. Good thing that Tom's immortal, or else he'd burn to death in the middle of sex.
> 
> Duplicity is on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Minryll is on tumblr [here](https://minryll.tumblr.com)!
> 
> For more future Retail Hell AUs, please join Duplicity's discord server [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5) and subscribe to the fic series!


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